Gone With the Wind
by Pickwick12
Summary: A white-collar crime specialist who loves New York City, DEA Agent Lydia Wilkes is less-than-excited to be assigned to a beachfront mansion in SoCal. The tale of how a book-loving teacher finds her place in the world of Graceland. Will feature all the characters we know and love.
1. Stuck with Graceland

**Stuck with Graceland**

I received: A promotion, a commendation, and a (literal) pat on the back from my boss. My parents got a call saying I wouldn't make it home for my sister's birthday because my assignment in New York had been extended. I made that call right before I boarded a plane to California. The thing about working for the government is that if you do a good job at one thing, they give you something harder and longer and more annoying to do.

I guess the "annoying" part is subjective, but I certainly wasn't feeling charmed with life as I clutched my crumpled boarding pass and found seat 33B—the middle, of course. (The DEA doesn't fly first class. Are you kidding? We're lucky we don't have to fly the plane ourselves.)

I had a teenager on my right, which was great. He put earbuds in as soon as the flight attendant gave the go-ahead, and he didn't peep until we landed except to take one bathroom break. On my left, I wasn't so lucky. The woman was one of those plane talkers. You know what I mean? One of those people who can't stand silence on a flight and has to find out everything about the person they're sitting with. I have no problem with a little bit of conversation, but when you're stuck with someone for over six hours, you're in for the long haul. At least it was good practice.

She started with the simple questions—

Name: Lydia Wilkes

Reason for Traveling: New job

Job: Elementary school teacher

I had to get really creative when she got going—

Marital Status: Single, unattached (they always say to tell the truth when you can; makes things easier)

Housing situation (What she actually said was, "Honey, do you have somewhere to move into when you get there? California can be dangerous, and you don't want to get stuck in some dodgy apartment. I mean, I can help find you something…"): Moving in with friends

Reason for moving from NYC to LA: Always wanted to know what it's like on the West Coast, time for a change

After she'd grilled me about why in the world I'd want to move across the country, Chatty Cathy finally put on one of those black eye masks and went to sleep. By then, I was way too keyed up from having to think of so many lies so quickly that I wasn't anywhere near taking a nap.

I leaned back as far as you can in the middle seat of an economy flight, which isn't very far, and thought about the blatant untruth of my final answer. It wasn't that the rest of the things I'd said were any more factual, but they were part of the cover, the things I'd rehearsed for my boss. Thinking about why I'd moved—that was personal.

The truth was, I loved New York City, and I never wanted to live anywhere else. Living with a cover identity isn't so bad, not if you like the cover, and I'd loved mine. I'd loved every kid in my class of 23 at Dyson Elementary and my little apartment in SoHo and even the case—Mommy crime, with just enough intrigue to keep me interested. People knew me at the New York office. They knew what I'd done, and they respected me for it.

That was the crux of the problem, I realized. It wasn't so much LA or the new job that I dreaded. It was the other agents. I'd been in too many rooms full of staring people who thought what I did was ridiculous. I knew how it was to try to explain that the way I'd made a name for myself was by bringing down a drug ring run by yuppie moms. You try explaining that to a room full of guys who deal with Colombian drug lords. They never cared that I had a bunch of awards and my name on some plaques. They just cared that I was a little girl who looked and sounded like I should be lecturing at Wellesley, not in the DEA.

That's why I'd had a fit when Branagan told me I was getting assigned to Graceland. A genteel fit, you understand. I don't really get that worked up. For me, really mad is pursed lips and slightly buggy eyes. Of course, Branagan knew that by then, and he went into wheedling, begging mode pretty quickly. It would be great, he said. All those beaches and all that nice weather.

I hated the beach, and I loved winter.

In the end, the boss always wins. Branagan looked at me with that fatherly expression he saved for special occasions when he really wanted to put someone on a guilt trip, and I agreed to go without a fight. It's not like I could have prevented it. The most a complaint would have gotten me was a few extra weeks and a bunch of people annoyed at me.

What I did try to do was convince Branagan to lobby for my own apartment, but that was a no-go from the beginning. I was being assigned to a fancy private school, and I had to go upmarket. The department wanted my address to make me look wealthy, like the kind of teacher who would be comfortable around millionaires and their kids because she was one. The DEA certainly wasn't going to pay out to make me look wealthy on my own when they already had a giant beachfront mansion. I was stuck with Graceland, like it or not.


	2. Gauntlet

**Gauntlet**

As soon as the pilot announced that we were coming in for landing, I pulled out my blue pocket mirror and touched up my lipstick—my favorite power color (Burberry Military Red). My left seatmate talked at me the whole way until we disembarked and I finally found myself in the freedom of the LA terminal.

I followed the signs to baggage claim and picked up my duffel bag and hardside suitcase, then went out to wait for a blue Ford Explorer with license plate 2JC34Y6. I felt a little sick to my stomach when the car pulled up, but I was glad I'd only had five minutes to wait and get increasingly nervous.

The driver got out and nodded to me before unceremoniously slinging my bags into the trunk of the car. I climbed into the passenger's side, and he joined me after a moment. "I'm Jakes," he said, holding out his hand. I smiled and proffered my own hand, which was about half as big as his. He was gorgeous, with dreadlocks, huge muscles, a nice smile, and an outfit that made him look like he'd come straight from the beach. Definitely not from New York.

Jakes eyed me, and I could tell that his gaze lingered on my white pearl necklace. Much like my lipstick, it was for good luck or confidence or whatever you want to call it. My companion's look, though, was beginning to make me think that pearls and a white button-down shirt might have been a poor choice for my introduction to LA and my new home. Not that I'd really expected any different. I didn't expect to fit in.

"Briggs said you're from New York," said my companion, navigating us out of the complex airport maze.

"Yeah," I answered. I'd been briefed that Briggs was the oldest agent at Graceland and the leader of the house, the buck stops here kind of guy if anything came up. That part made sense to me. Even when you're dealing with adults, it's hard to make anything work without a leader.

Jakes was quiet, and I was glad. I watched the scenery go by in amazement. I'd never been anywhere tropical in my life, and the palm trees and azure sky seemed unreal, like a film or a postcard. They say that cities have a pulse. New York's was fast, tachycardic, such a rapid beat it seemed likely to go into cardiac arrest any minute. LA, on the other hand, was slow and steady, laid back, the heartbeat of a permanent vacation.

If I was already astonished, my mouth practically dropped open when we came to the beach itself. I'd only ever seen the rocky beaches of the North, the ones that seem like they're daring you to tempt their savage beauty. This was something else entirely, an atmosphere that suggested warmth in every way. The midafternoon sun kissed the blue and white waves, and for the first time, I was a little bit glad I was in California.

Just as I'd been led to expect, the outside of the house was huge and opulent in every way. If the DEA wanted me to look well-heeled, they'd certainly picked the right place. I grabbed my suitcase, and Jakes, ever the gentleman, took the duffel bag. I felt a little bit like I had the day I'd moved into my college dorm as an undergrad, that same feeling of apprehension, excitement, and having a little too much adrenaline coursing through my veins.

"She's here!" I heard the voice before I saw the face. A woman opened the door. She was small and dark-haired. Beautiful. Instantly I felt my personal space invaded, and she hugged me tightly. I recovered in time to return the embrace. I don't dislike hugs; in fact, I love them under the right circumstances. I just have trouble receiving them from strangers.

"Charlie's a hugger," Jakes said from behind me, and I had a feeling he identified with my feelings.

The woman pulled back and grinned. "Welcome to Graceland. I'm Charlie."

"Lydia Wilkes," I answered.

"I'm FBI, like Mike, Johnny, and Briggs," she continued. "Jakes is Customs, and Paige is DEA like you, but she's not here right now.

Just then, two ridiculously gorgeous men came downstairs and stood in front of me, next to each other, staring me down like a gauntlet of hotness. There's really no other way to say it. I mean, undercover agents tend to be decent looking. They need to be; it helps them get in with people. That's human nature. But this—this was ridiculous.

"I'm Paul Briggs," said the taller one, who had gigantic shoulders. He shook my hand. I smiled and tried to make myself keep eye contact, but it was difficult.

The slighter of the two grinned, and his face went from handsome to adorable. "I'm Johnny. Nice pearls."

"Thanks," I said quickly. "I'm Lydia Wilkes."

"Wilkes—like Melanie Wilkes in _Gone With the Wind_," he said, sounding excited. I can't say I expected a tattooed FBI agent to make that reference, though it was the reason I'd chosen it as my cover name.

"You mean Ashley Wilkes?" Jakes tentatively put in.

"No, dude, that's the guy!" Johnny shook his head. "Nobody here reads." I smiled in spite of my nervousness.

"I'll show you upstairs," said Charlie then, taking my bag from Jakes and leading the way to a large room that was bare except for a bed and some shelves. "This was Lauren's room," she said, looking a little sad. "She got transferred."

"Oh," I answered, not sure how to respond.

"Listen—don't," Charlie said suddenly, setting my bag down and turning around to face me. "Don't worry about those guys downstairs. It can be hard being one of the girls here, but everybody who lives here is cool, you know?"

"Sure," I said, but I didn't. I don't take other people's word for that, but Charlie seemed nice. She left my room, and I started to unpack.

After a few minutes, I heard a knock on my open doorframe, and I looked up from arranging my books to find Briggs in the doorway. "Mind if I come in?" he asked, but it was more of an assertion than a request for permission.

"Go ahead," I answered, standing up and joining him on the edge of the bed.


	3. Awkward

**Awkward**

"You ok?" Briggs asked. "I know moves like this aren't easy—east coast to west coast."

"I'm fine," I answered, probably more forcefully than was necessary.

"Take it easy, Mama," he said, smiling. "I'm just here to tell you that we're here if you need anything. Those people down there—they're good people. I read your file; I know this isn't what you wanted. There's a reason they placed you here, though."

I wanted to say _yeah, because the agency is cheap_, but I didn't. I just looked at him. My mother used to tell me that if you don't have anything nice to say, it's probably best to say nothing at all, not to mention that I didn't want to get in an actual conflict with the head honcho of the house, not on my first day there.

"Anyway," he said, getting up, "I haven't told anybody else what you do. I thought you might want to make your own introductions."

"Ok," I answered, and he left the room.

I started to unpack, taking out my frustration on my wrinkled clothes and jumbled accessories. After a while, I forced myself to leave the room and go back downstairs. I would have liked to hide in my solitude, but I knew I needed to at least try to make friends, since I was going to be at Graceland for the foreseeable future.

On the first floor, I found Charlie making pasta in the kitchen, while Jakes, Briggs, and Johnny talked loudly in the living room. "Hi," said Charlie, smiling. "We switch off—cooking and doing the dishes. That way, nobody gets stuck with it all."

"I'll do the dishes every night," I said quickly, "as long as I don't have to cook."

All of a sudden, I noticed that everyone's eyes were on me, staring at me strangely. "Hey," I said, "I like to do dishes. It's meditative."

"I'd like to be meditative over a beer," said Johnny. "How about we take you out for an official welcome to Graceland?"

"I—don't actually drink alcohol," I said. I'd hoped not to have that conversation quite so soon.

"Oh lord," said Jakes, sighing loudly.

"Don't worry about it," said Charlie gently, still hand-rolling ravioli behind me. "You'll get along great with Mike. He's real straightlaced. We'll take you to dinner instead. This stuff can go in the freezer."

* * *

They took me to a place on the beach, a grill that did chicken and fish. It smelled amazing. We got a table by a window, and I looked out and watched the waves in the dusky light. Charlie sat beside me, with Johnny beside her and Jakes and Briggs on the other side of the table.

"So spill it," said Johnny, once we had a basket of conch fritters to pass around. "What are you here for?"

I looked around, and everyone's eyes were on me, but they were friendly, not threatening. "I deal with drugs in the white-collar sector," I said, trying to be as vague as possible.

"What's that mean?" asked Johnny, "Russians?"

I took a deep breath. "I'm—I'm a schoolteacher. I go undercover and ferret out drug rings wealthy parents are involved in." There was no immediate laughter, which I thought was a good sign.

To my surprise, Briggs spoke. "She brought down a million dollar ring in New York. Just her and one other agent posing as a school janitor." I blushed. This definitely wasn't the direction I'd expected the conversation to go. Usually, by now, no one was listening because they'd dismissed me as a nobody, but this was different.

"Why did they reassign you?" This was from Charlie.

"I—never got made," I answered, "but the agency decided I was too well known over there and they needed to move me."

"She was nominated for teacher of the year," said Briggs. I hadn't intended to tell that part, but it was true.

"I guess I won't be asking you to help with any shootouts then," said Johnny, breaking the somewhat awkward silence that followed Briggs's declaration.

That was when my feelings boiled over. "I'm as much of an agent as you are," I snapped. "I have the same training as anyone in the DEA, and just because I use good grammar and have the ability to handle 25 children at a time doesn't mean I'm no good for other kinds of jobs." Even as I said it, I was completely aware that Johnny didn't deserve a tirade, and the hurt look in his eyes told me I was right.

Thankfully, a waitress showed up then, and I was able to subside into silence. I didn't say much for the rest of the meal, and nobody said anything to me. There was a tense feeling around the table, as if they were all a little afraid of me.

We finally left, and I was still silent for the ride home. As soon as we got back to Graceland, I went to my room and shut the door. A few minutes later, I heard a knock, and my heart sank. I expected Briggs, and I felt like a kid headed for the principle's office, except the principle had come to me.

I was mistaken. I opened the door to find Johnny on the other side, wearing nothing but shorts, a wifebeater shirt, and a concerned expression. "Hey," he said quietly, clearly nervous.

"Hey," I said, feeling pretty terrible. "Want to come in?" He followed me into my room and stood awkwardly at the end of my bed.

"I came to say sorry," he said. "I didn't mean anything back there. It was just dumb stuff. We don't know you yet. It's always different when there's a new person. I've never met somebody who does the kind of stuff you do."

"It's—it's ok," I said. "I'm too on edge. I didn't want to come here, but it's not you guys' fault I got reassigned."

"You'll be ok," he said. "It's pretty cool here when you get used to it."

"Thanks," I said, smiling.

He left my room, and I was alone for the rest of the night. No one else came to my door, and I started to learn that Briggs tended to let things in the house play themselves out whenever he could. He wasn't one to intervene more than necessary.

Once I was finally in my pajamas under the covers, I told myself to get a grip. _It's just an assignment, Lydia _I said. _You knew when you joined the agency that you couldn't make your own choices any more. _It was true, and I had school the next day, so I forced myself to stop thinking and go to sleep.


End file.
